


i tore the fear from my bones

by Sameifer



Series: small and silver [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Depression, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, steve is tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 14:23:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19211236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sameifer/pseuds/Sameifer
Summary: Steve died when Bucky fell, and even when he woke up, he was still dead. He's been dead for such a long time; longer than anyone has really realized.





	i tore the fear from my bones

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This fic is literally just depression and suicidal ideation so please do not read if that stresses you out or will trigger you
> 
> I've been toying with this idea for a long time and I don't have the commitment to write a full length fic right now but my hands were itching for something. so I made this un-proofread word jumble in 45 min...

He’s come close to death many, many times. He was close to death in the winters of the 1930’s, hacking up a lung. He was close to death when he was shot on some battlefield in France, the bullet grazing much too close to his heart. He was close to death when those aliens invaded New York City. He’s cheated death more times than should be allowed, really.

And yet, he’s been dead.

Steve Rogers didn’t die when he crashed that plane into the ice. No, Steve Rogers died when Bucky Barnes fell. Steve died when Bucky fell, and even when he woke up, he was still dead. He’s been dead for such a long time; longer than anyone has really realized. Because even though he’s awake in a future that could offer him anything his heart desires and more, it can’t really. Not when his heart is still, unmoving, the blood flowing through him cold. His lungs are filled with a liquid thick like tar. 

Every step he takes in this new world— _ his world, now _ he reminds himself— is a step he wants to erase. He knows somewhere deep within himself that he is here in this new time for a reason. He knows that some entity, some being, brought him back for a reason, but he wishes he had a say in the matter. He doesn’t think that he would have chosen to come back.

He visits Peggy sometimes. It feels alright, more alright than anything else around him. At least she can sympathize with him. She misses things from that time, too, things that will never come back. Peggy also knows that not all of him came out of that ice; she can see it in his eyes, Steve knows she can. The way her eyes shift, her smile turns sad, and she gently takes his hand whispering, “It’s alright, love. You’ll be alright.” Steve doesn’t know if that’s true, but he always nods his head along regardless.

Sometimes he rides the train through Brooklyn. The utter indifference New Yorkers have will always be the same, no matter the century. It’s humbling in a way he can’t describe. He thinks about a lot of things. He thinks about him and Buck, and how they’d dance in the cramped living room of their dingy apartment. He thinks about the stray cats that used to loiter around their building, Bucky always complaining about their yowling at night, but would always be crouched down feeding them every morning. He thinks about how he and Bucky were truly, honest to goodness married. Even when they knew it didn’t make sense and that it wasn’t practical, but it was what they were. They would come home every night and mend each other. They cleansed each other's souls and licked  each other's wounds. There was no ring, didn’t need to be. They knew what they were and that’s just how it was.

Now it was just Steve, trudging through, feeling like his right lung was missing with every breath. 

He knows he’s not okay. He hasn’t been okay since the train in ‘45. It’s why he crashed that plane in the first place with no intention of coming back. It’s why he fights so reckless, silently hoping that one day he’ll make a wrong step, and someone will finish him off. He knows there’s a reason he’s here again, but he still wants out. He doesn’t really  _ want  _ out; he wants Bucky, to be by his side, tucked under his arm like one of his ribs. He wants to crawl into Bucky’s skin and live there forever. He wants to be a part of something whole again; he wants his lung back, his heart to beat again, to look at Bucky and feel his blood grow warm with how alive he feels. He can’t get that though, so he wants out, the next best thing.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell about stevebucky with me on twitter: @sameifer <3


End file.
